


ask me no questions (i'll tell you no lies)

by SummerFrost



Series: fuck it, i love you [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: (on the part of Dan & Chloe), Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant Through s2e11, Canon-Typical suicidal ideation, Coming Out, Dom/sub Undertones, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Parenthood, Pining, Praise Kink kinda if you squint, at least one of which involves pudding, bisexual awakenings, then i do what i want, thinly veiled metaphors, this fic is more tender than it has any right to be but i'm not sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-09 07:57:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20850089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerFrost/pseuds/SummerFrost
Summary: People find Dan a little boring, and they'd like him less if they didn't. No one needs Lucifer to be something they can swallow.





	ask me no questions (i'll tell you no lies)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! This is my first fic in the Lucifer fandom and I'm super excited. I blame and thank (in equal parts) soundslikepenance for my obsession with the show and, more specifically, this ship. They also beta'd! <3
> 
> If you found this fic because you follow me for my other writing and haven't watched Lucifer, A) go watch Lucifer immediately it's amazing, and B) DM me on [my Tumblr](http://www.yoursummerfrost.tumblr.com) and I will treat you to a primer with a lot of vague hand flailing. Be aware there are spoilers through ~halfway through season 2.
> 
> Title from "Miracle" by CHVRCHES, which is a fun little private joke between all of you and me. The series title is from an excellent song of the same name by Lana Del Ray.

Dan wasn't trying to be an entire dick, okay? Like, he knows he's not a fantastic guy. He made that bed, got it covered in Malcom Graham's blood, and then—

Actually, gross, no. That's a stupid metaphor. At the least, Dan could wash his sheets or something.

The point is—sure, Dan's at least 65% an asshole, but he wasn't trying to be a  _ homophobic  _ asshole. And like, the whole joke— _ 'Can I borrow your girlfriend? Let's make it a threesome'— _ it was about Lucifer's general sluttiness as, like, a construct, right? And the total absurdity of a dude literally pretending to be the  _ fucking devil,  _ like, appearing out of nowhere and he steals your pudding and wants to fuck your wife (your ex-wife) and you're supposed to be cool with it because he's tall and looks better in your own clothes than you do and wears this really specific cologne that probably costs more than your car, except the more he thinks about it—

"Daniel," Lucifer says, which, fuck. They're definitely still sitting on the edge of this stage and Dan's been staring into space for fuck-knows how long. "Is this the part where we hug it out? May I remind you, we do have a killer to catch."

Dan straightens up with a cough, jumping away from the hand Lucifer slaps against his shoulder.

"Uh, hey, man," Dan says, totally ignoring the hug thing. "I just wanted to, like—are we good? About the improv shit? 'Cause, I mean, I guess I don't know if you're really into—"

"Men?" Lucifer supplies with that cocky grin of his, stupid white teeth and an inability to take anything fucking seriously. "Oh,  _ yes.  _ Among other things."

Dan does a really fantastic job of being normal about that. "Oh. Uh. Cool. Yeah, my point is—I'm not—I wasn't trying to be—like, I wasn't trying to make it the butt of a joke, that you're, uh—"

"Bisexual, you humans call it? Or pansexual, I'm not really picky," Lucifer cuts in again, and he leans a little closer and waggles his eyebrows like he's  _ enjoying  _ making Dan supremely fucking uncomfortable. "That's sort of the point, far as I can see."

Jesus, how does this guy not get  _ punched? _

"C'mon, man!" Dan throws his hands up. "I'm trying to, like—I'm sorry, okay?"

Lucifer huffs, slaps his hands on his knees, and then hauls Dan unceremoniously to his feet. "Detective, it's  _ fine— _ I've let it go. Can we get on with the investigation?"

Dan's shoes scuff against the floor. He stumbles a half-step forward and catches himself on Lucifer's biceps, which—Jesus, the dude really works out—would be solidly humiliating enough, even if Lucifer weren't still gripping the back of his shirt like someone would scruff a fucking dog.

"Shall we?" Lucifer asks. He slides his hand up and squeezes the back of Dan's neck, then breaks all contact just as quickly to stride off towards the exit.

Dan can still feel the cool spot where Lucifer's ring pressed in. He presses his own hand to the base of his hairline, digging his fingers into the sudden tension, and follows.

~*~

Dan lets it go. Really.

~*~

Until there's a murder investigation where the precinct interviews ninety-two (yeah,  _ really,  _ Dan fucking counted— _ twice)  _ people that Lucifer's fucked.  _ Recently.  _

Which, Dan could get over the number, maybe, except he's fixated on the—well, it's not like—

There's a lot of women. Like, percentage-wise. Which is—there's a lot of hot women in LA, and the world, generally speaking. Dan has eyes. And there's men, too, and according to Dan's clipboard people who are neither and/or both, and like Dan said, he has eyes, obviously he can tell those people are objectively attractive, probably more attractive than Dan is, at least.

But you could miss them in the crowd, was the original point, and Dan had thought—

Well, Lucifer had said—quipped, really—it himself, that the point was to not be picky, and Dan had kind of imagined—

(Not that Dan has spent, like, a weird amount of time on this or anything, just that Lucifer Morningstar is a lot of things, but boring to think about isn't one of them.)

Dan had pictured a kind of equal-opportunity revolving door sort of situation. Like, that Lucifer was sleeping with tons of men, probably, that he might suck a lot of dick or something, and—it was weird, picturing someone as stupid and pompous as Lucifer on his knees, but it was probably happening and how would Dan know.

But maybe it wasn't, judging by the room. And hallway. And the other room. 

Jesus. How did this guy have time to  _ sleep? _

And it's just weird to Dan, because, like, why wouldn't you? Sleep with a bunch of dudes, he means. If that was a thing you were into, wouldn't you, like,  _ do  _ it more? Like, Lucifer's so ridiculously non-monogamous that Dan doubts he even knows that's a  _ word,  _ and he's fucking hot, and it's not like LA's the kind of small town that Dan grew up in, and there are  _ ninety-two people  _ in their fucking police station.

"Ah, Daniel!"

Speak of the guy with the devil-complex. Lucifer slaps Dan on the back as he strides towards the interrogation room, wiggling his fingers at one of the women leaning against the far wall, and asks, "Is it showtime?"

Dan clears his throat and walks quickly to catch up. He palms the door even though Lucifer is holding it open for him. "Uh, we're waiting on Chloe. She's finishing up with Ella."

"Right." Lucifer shuts the door behind them and fidgets with his tie, grinning unnervingly like Trixie does when Dan bribes her with chocolate cake. "Finally, the detective will be faced with evidence of my—"

"Actually," Dan cuts in, which, in twenty minutes when he's busy regretting it, he'll blame on the lack of coffee. "I had a question about that."

Lucifer sighs and pulls out his phone. "Alright, whose number do you want? I hope you know I can't just give these out like candy, Dan—"

"What? No!" Dan rubs at his face. "That's not—I just noticed—did you leave names off the list you gave us or something?"

Lucifer places a hand on his chest. "Really, Detective—I  _ said  _ it's been a bit of a dry spell, no need to rub it in."

A dry spell. Right.

Dan should just give it up. Having any kind of conversation with this dude is an exercise in grinding teeth. 

On the other hand, Lucifer  _ also  _ loves talking about himself and doesn't know the definition of TMI, and Dan's questions aren't, like—he's tried to have this conversation with Tom from improv before, and he always gets the sense that Tom kind of wants him to fuck off, which Dan kind of gets, but it doesn't  _ help. _

"No, man, why are there, like, only twenty dudes out there?" Dan asks, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the hallway. "I thought, you know, you weren't picky."

"Oh," Lucifer says, pulling up a chair. "That's all? I suppose I've been pursuing more women lately. Are you disappointed, Detective?"

Dan raises his eyebrows indignantly. "Why would I be—" 

Focus, Dan.

"Nevermind." He grabs a chair for himself and sits down too. "Is that—why?"

Lucifer hums, considering. 

Dan continues, "I guess I just thought, like—the point of, you know, fucking dudes is that you're into them like you're into women. Like, it doesn't make a difference."

"Ah, I see what you're getting at!" Lucifer snaps his fingers and shoots a fingergun at Dan, which, as a side note, is just, like—

Lucifer has all these little mannerisms, like the way he hops in fucking place when he's pleased with himself or waggles both his eyebrows or fucking points at you when he's trying to make a point, and if Dan did shit like that he'd look stupid and weird, but somehow on Lucifer it's just—better.

Dan fucking hates it.

"Does that make sense?" Lucifer asks.

Dan blinks. "Uh."

Lucifer sighs and pats Dan on the shoulder. "That's quite alright. Maybe a metaphor will help clear things up."

This is why Dan shouldn't internally monologue.

"Right, so, as a general rule I'd say that my go-to drink is bourbon, right?" Lucifer gestures as if there's a highball glass in his hand. "But I also quite like wine, and sometimes I'd even say I prefer it for the occasion."

"Uh," says Dan.

"But I don't like wine _because _it's similar to bourbon—it's sort of...its own set of preferences," Lucifer continues excitedly. "And of course we could extend this to vodka, or tequila, et cetera. So, yes, I partake in all sorts of booze and people, but I wouldn't say that I have the same..._ relationship _to each. Now, Maze, on the other hand—that little demon just wants to get drunk."

Dan runs a hand through his hair. "But sometimes you're not in the mood for, uh, wine?"

"Exactly!" Lucifer leans back in his chair—were they really sitting that close?—and crosses his legs. "Is that helpful?"

And then Dan asks, "Is that why you've never hit on me?" instead of anything that makes any goddamn sense, because what the fuck is  _ wrong  _ with him lately?

Lucifer looks actively  _ affronted.  _ "Surely I have?"

Dan looks up at the ceiling, weighs the pros and cons of committing murder-suicide to erase this conversation from existence, and then rolls his head back to look at the computer directly behind Lucifer's right ear.

"Uh, no, man," he says. "Pretty sure you haven't."

"Oh." Lucifer tilts his head at Dan thoughtfully, dragging his eyes down from Dan's face all the way to, Jesus Christ, his crotch. "Well, I'd say physically you're certainly not bad, although when we met, I suppose I was too fixated on the 'douche' of it all to really find you attractive."

Dan hates the way Lucifer says  _ douche.  _ Like he's spitting out something nasty tasting. He hasn't called Dan that since the night at improv practice—except now, technically. When Dan basically asked if Lucifer wanted to fuck him or not. Jesus. Fuck. Where the fuck is Chloe.

"Then, I sort of got tunnel vision with the detective, and by the time I found you tolerable it was just…" Lucifer shrugs, then leans forward again to rest his elbow on Dan's chair, smouldering up at him. "Are you feeling left out, darling? I could certainly—"

The door opens to reveal Chloe poking her head in, and Dan's chair squeals against the floor as he jumps away from Lucifer, who sits up straight and folds his hands over his knee in one obnoxiously fluid motion.

"Hey," Chloe tells the room at large. "You guys ready?"

Dan's heart is racing from the surprise entrance and he has to clear his throat before he can get it to work.

"Uh, yeah," he says. "We're good—right, buddy?"

"Yes, it's about time!" Lucifer answers. He waves a hand at the two-way mirror. "Buckle up, Detective. You're in for a treat."

Chloe rolls her eyes and lets the door swing shut behind her. It takes Dan two more seconds to realize that Lucifer was probably talking to her.

~*~

Dan wouldn't exactly call the interviews a  _ treat— _ for any of them.

It's not noticeable at first. Partly because Dan is distracted by wondering what the fuck kind of sex move 'Gentlemen, Start Your Engines' could possibly be and honestly being a little afraid to ask, based on Lucifer's gleeful expression, and partly because, well. It takes a while to sink in.

_ "It was just sex, nothing to be jealous over." _

Lucifer laughs, like he's relieved his one-night-stand didn't murder his other one-night-stand, obviously. But also not totally like that.

_ "Emotional intimacy? No, there wasn't anything like that." _

Dan winces, watches Lucifer shake out his pocket square and carefully refold it.

_ "It meant nothing to me." _

_ "It meant nothing to me." _

_ "It meant nothing to me." _

The last interviewee of the day follows Chloe out of the room. Dan thinks he'd be willing to ask about the car battery after all, if it'd put something besides all that empty space back on Lucifer's face.

"Well," Dan says instead. "At least the good news is that none of them killed those people."

Lucifer turns to him, voice cracking in time with the twist in Dan's stomach. "Because none of them  _ cared  _ enough to kill for me! I meant nothing to them!"

And it's—

Dan's not the smartest guy, probably. But he can read between the lines and the glassiness of Lucifer's eyes.

It meant something, to Lucifer. Ninety-two people filing out of an LAPD precinct lobby, and they all meant something.

"Hey, man, I didn't—" Dan tries, but Lucifer goes to wrench open the door and Dan moves on instinct, slipping between him and the doorway and pushing him back with a hand on his chest. "Lucifer,  _ wait." _

Lucifer makes a sound that was probably supposed to be another laugh—incredulous this time—but he doesn't shove Dan out of his way.

Dan's hand is still over Lucifer's collarbone. It's hard to feel it over the suit. He clears his throat and says, "You must have some shitty taste, man, if those people are all too stupid to see it—that, you know, when it's not at my expense, you're actually pretty funny, and you've got great taste in movies. And for some reason my kid likes you, and I  _ know _ you'd kill for her—or Chloe."

_ Probably not for me,  _ Dan thinks. But he's a big enough person to bury that.

Lucifer's eyes are still wet, but his voice is steady again.

"Careful, Detective," he says softly, and almost smiles as he brushes past through the doorway. "Or I'll start to think you actually like me."

He's gone, then. Dan leans back against the door to shut it, his shoulders jarring with the impact.

~*~

Dan shrugs out of his jacket before unlocking his apartment, taking a moment to soak in the sound of the lock turning—it's finally Friday and he's not on call this weekend, and all he wants to do is watch action movies until he passes out on the couch and then sleep till noon. It'll be glorious.

Except the refrigerator is open and there's the sound of metal cans clinking and Dan draws his gun—

"Ah, Daniel!" Lucifer's stupid head pops out from behind the door. "You're finally home!"

Dan swears profusely and holsters his weapon, yanking the front door shut without turning his back. "Morningstar, what the  _ fuck?" _

Lucifer is smiling like a fucking idiot. He holds up a six pack from that bougie new brewery a few blocks over and says, "I thought since we're 'buddies' now, we could have a guys' night. I brought beer!"

"I'm not sure that counts as beer," Dan says. Then blinks. "How the fuck did you get in here, man? I almost shot you!"

"Well, it's good you didn't," Lucifer answers, setting the beer down on the counter. He thumbs at one of his lapels. "This is Armani."

Dan huffs out a laugh despite himself. He shakes his head before untying his shoes.

Lucifer asks, "Shall we get the pre-game started, then? I believe it's customary for you to order our pizza, since I brought the booze."

Okay, Dan  _ was  _ gonna order pizza for dinner anyway, so he can let that—wait.

"Pre-game for what?" he asks warily. "And when did I agree to hang out with you?"

"For the club!" Lucifer insists, conveniently ignoring the second part.

Dan groans and tosses his jacket onto the couch as he hedges, "Look, man, I'm  _ tired.  _ I guess we can chill and, uh, watch a movie or something, but I'm not really up for Lux tonight."

"Oh, don't worry!" Lucifer says. He's still smiling eagerly, with those stupid, weirdly bright eyes. "I had somewhere else in mind."

It's amazing how this guy's two settings are 'terrifying potential psychopath you pray is pointed in the right direction' and 'golden retriever puppy.' 

But then again, Dan's pretty sure Lucifer's had a rough week. Or couple weeks. And there was also that time last month where he stood in front of a sniper and literally begged him to shoot and no one ever talked about it again, so.

(He punched Dan in the face earlier that day, but considering that time Dan gave Malcom Graham the gun that nearly got Lucifer killed, they can probably call it even. No one's perfect.)

Lucifer makes a soft sound under his breath and hefts the six pack off the counter, shifting towards the door.

Technically, Malcom almost killed Lucifer  _ twice. _

Dan coughs and says, "We're not putting any weird shit on the pizza, okay? Pepperoni or sausage or something."

_ "Manly  _ toppings," Lucifer agrees, and slaps Dan on the back with obvious delight.

Dan pulls out his phone and watches Lucifer flop down onto the couch, sprawling out with his arms behind his head—beer ditched on the coffee table—and his feet propped up on an armrest. He waggles his eyebrows when he catches Dan staring.

There's no possible way that Dan won't regret this.

~*~

"Lucifer!" Dan shouts over the obnoxiously loud '80s pop blasting over the speakers. "Why are we in a gay club, man?"

Lucifer, who tossed his suit jacket to the coat check staff with a wink and is in the process of rolling up his shirt sleeves, gives him a look that says,  _ 'Isn't it obvious?' _

"You've inspired me, Daniel!" he says, and plants a hand between Dan's shoulder blades to steer him towards the bar.

Dan blinks. "I have no idea what that means!"

Lucifer doesn't answer. Somehow, Dan doubts that it's because he can't hear him.

They squeeze between groups of people to get space at the bar. Or, well— _ Dan  _ squeezes. Lucifer melts through the spaces between bodies as people turn to stare at him when he walks past.

It's not like Dan could blame them. It'd just be nice to, you know, also order a drink, if he's gonna be awkwardly sulking for the next three hours while Lucifer picks up.

Lucifer tugs Dan forward, though, slinging a friendly arm around his shoulders while he waves the bartender over for them.

"What'll you have?" the bartender asks. He's got an undercut and a half-sleeve of colorful tattoos up one arm, and he's shirtless. Dan wonders if he gets hit on a lot.

"Uh," Dan says. "A Bud Light?"

Lucifer wrinkles up his nose and tells the bartender, "Ignore him, darling."

He leans in and murmurs into the bartender's ear, making the other man laugh and shoot Dan an amused look. Dan pinches the bridge of his nose.

Lucifer drops his arm from Dan's shoulders and rests it on the bartop instead. They're pretty crammed in—Dan's right up against the dude next to him, who doesn't seem to mind—and Lucifer's forearm presses up against Dan's as he settles in.

"You could've warned me, you know," Dan points out, gesturing with his other hand.

"Why?" Lucifer asks. "Do you have something in your wardrobe besides hoodies you'd have liked to wear?"

Dan snorts and tugs at the leather jacket he's wearing pointedly. "C'mon, man."

Unapologetic, Lucifer accepts their drinks from the bartender and raises his to Dan in a toast. 

Dan obliges on autopilot, then freezes with the glass pressed to his lips when his brain catches up with an audible record scratch.

Lucifer has ditched the straw in his drink in favor of gulping down what looks like a strawberry daiquiri straight from the glass, a silly little lime green umbrella looking even more ridiculous scraping against his stubble.

Dan is holding what looks like scotch or bourbon, neat.

He drinks it, coughing when the burn hits and feeling the smell of hard liquor sting his nose, and doesn't think about the way Lucifer's throat bobbed like an invitation.

For someone else, maybe.

Lucifer's mouth is stained pink from the daiquiri, a little wet. His tongue darts out to lap up a piece of crushed ice sliding down the glass before he puts the drink back down.

He looks down at Dan's bourbon, then up at Dan's face, and leans in a little closer so he doesn't have to shout.

"You don't like your drink, Detective?" he teases.

Dan fucking hates bourbon. He gets the feeling that there's supposed to be some other point to this whole thing and it's making him restless, and he wants to chase the burn with the bruising red sweetness of the thing grasped loosely in Lucifer's hands.

"It's fine," he says roughly, and takes another sip.

Lucifer finishes off his daiquiri, like, crazy fast—apparently the Devil is immune to brain freeze—then drops the umbrella into Dan's glass.

"Right." He’s staring over Dan's shoulder, towards the rest of the club. "I think it's time we made it over to the dance floor, don't you?"

"Uh, I don't really dance." Dan follows Lucifer's gaze, taking in the swathe of half-naked men grinding on each other to, for some reason, Gwen Stefani. "And I'm not—"

Lucifer is undoing the buttons of his shirt with one hand. "Come on, Daniel—I thought you wanted to let loose! The Devil can keep a secret."

Dan insists, "That's not—"

Lucifer drags his fingers down Dan's knuckles in the same breath that he vanishes into the crowd, and Dan flexes them into a fist against the bar. 

He stares at the tendons in his hand, the way they pop into place when he threatens to throw a punch. There's nothing to hit, nowhere that it makes sense to put the crawling feeling under his skin, so he drinks the glorified whiskey instead—because it's there, and already paid for, and Dan fucking hates bourbon but it makes sense in front of him.

That's the thing about people like Lucifer. Once you get weird enough—the kind of person the people who know you have to wave off, or field interrogations about—you can do whatever the fuck you want and nothing will make it better or worse.

A guy who pretends to be the Devil and throws around the kind of money that Lucifer does—he can drink bourbon, or something froofy with an umbrella, or vodka fucking soda. He can surround himself with model-gorgeous women and slip his hand down another man's jeans on a dancefloor.

No one needs him to be something they can swallow.

Dan's a decent guy; 65% percent asshole. He's a mediocre cop who looked the other way on drug skimming but drew the line at murder. He was a shitty husband, but not so shitty that his ex-wife doesn't want to stay friends. His daughter loves him, and she'll need therapy because of his job but not because of him, if he can help it.

People find him a little boring, and they'd like him less if they didn't.

Dan looks back out over the dance floor, where he catches sight of Lucifer almost immediately—the crisp, shiny purple shirt is hard to miss when it's crumpled in someone else's hands.

Lucifer is making out with some dude a head shorter than him, one hand cupped around the back of the dude's neck and the other trapped somewhere between their bodies maybe, Dan can't tell from here; not that he wants to.

It's kind of like rubbernecking on the highway—this thing Dan can't look away from and feels ashamed of himself for not, and the shame freezes over and makes it even harder to turn his head.

Lucifer is biting into the other dude's mouth, and his teeth are so white and too sharp, even from this distance, and Dan can see them pull against the man's bottom lip before it pops free. There's a lot of sweat. Lucifer's hair is all fucked up, and Dan's only ever seen it like that when he was spiraling somewhere dark.

Unlike now, where Lucifer smiles. His eyes open between each kiss, like a soft reset. Stranger number ninety-three pulls him back down by the Armani.

"Can I get you another?" the bartender asks.

Dan turns in a jerking, guilty motion, his hand slipping against the lukewarm glass in his palm.

"Yeah," he says. "Can you make me whatever my buddy was drinking?"

~*~

Dan keeps thinking about what Lucifer said at the precinct, even though he's lost track of the metaphor by now. 

It's just there, clunking around his stupid skull, and he starts to  _ notice  _ shit. Like how his entire wardrobe is based off of how cool Kimo Van Zandt looked in  _ The Weaponizer,  _ definitely in a completely normal way. Or the way this thought keeps glitching into his brain—the image of Lucifer's hair falling in his face, and the hand-twitching urge to ruin how obnoxiously perfect it still looks at midnight after a shootout, when he breaks into Dan's apartment for the third time in two weeks.

It doesn't have to mean anything. Dan's fine.

~*~

Dan's distracted by it, turning it over because it's easier than thinking too hard about the brutal vehicular manslaughter case he just finished processing, when he realizes that he's driven a third of the way home having missed a critical step.

_ "Shit,"  _ he says to the empty car, and turns on his siren to make a spectacularly illegal u-turn at a red light.

In the end, Trixie only ends up waiting on the curb for, like, five minutes, tops, so Dan's probably not an entire bag of dicks. At least not for this.

"Hey, kiddo," he tells her, reaching out to ruffle her hair as she chucks her little backpack into the back seat. "How was your day?"

"Hi, Daddy!" Trixie grins at him. Her tongue is poking out from the gap between two teeth. She lost it two weeks ago; Chloe got to be the tooth fairy. "Did you see my funny Snapchat?"

Dan shifts the car into drive and pulls back into the flow of traffic leaving the parking lot. "Sorry, sweetie, I've been working. Let's look at it together when we get home, okay?"

Trixie seems satisfied by that. She connects her phone to his Bluetooth to play music on the drive, setting it to some playlist that Chloe probably gave her, based on all the '90s jams. It makes Dan's chest hurt a little, still, even if he's mostly over it.

They get home in good time—Dan doesn't even swear at the traffic—and Dan swings Trixie's backpack over his shoulder to unlock the apartment. He can see light coming through under the door, which—he should probably be bugged by the fact that he's not even surprised anymore.

"Lucifer!" Trixie darts over and tackles Lucifer with one of her customary hugs. He grunts, locking eyes with Dan with an accusatory expression.

"Er, yes—hello, urchin." He pats her on the head stiltedly. "I thought you were with your mother."

Dan sets Trixie's backpack on the ground. "We traded weekends last minute. Maze is dragging her on some booze cruise thing."

"Oh." Lucifer pries Trixie's arms off from around his waist and furrows his eyebrows at her. "Are you not old enough to drink yet?"

Trixie laughs delightedly, but Dan's actually not 100% sure that Lucifer was kidding.

"Are you watching  _ Spirit _ with us, Lucifer?" Trixie asks, tilting her head up at him with puppydog eyes.

"Ah—what?" Lucifer asks.

Dan shrugs out of his jacket and explains, "You know, that weird animated movie with the horse? Trix, why don't you go grab it from your room and I'll talk to Lucifer for a sec, okay?"

Trixie darts into her bedroom, which Dan painted bright periwinkle for her in direct violation of his lease, and does some kind of weird curtsy thing before closing the door.

Lucifer spreads his hands, gesturing for Dan to go ahead.

"Uh, so, look, man," he says. "I know I'm normally free—"

"Because your life is horribly boring and I'm saving you from yourself, yes."

"—but this is my kid," Dan continues, graciously ignoring Lucifer's bullshit. "And I'm gonna do whatever she wants tonight."

Even if it's the same horse movie Dan's seen twelve times and he could sing the—admittedly, really good—soundtrack in his sleep.

Lucifer frowns, but he doesn't say something weird about letting the offspring fend for herself or anything, so—progress, technically.

"You can, uh." Dan rubs at his ear. "You can stay, I guess, if you want."

"Oh?" Lucifer asks, seeming—like, genuinely surprised maybe, which is fair considering that Dan's kind of in disbelief himself—and maybe a little uncomfortable. Which is the weird part, because it's not like he's ever had an issue with saying he doesn't wanna do something before, and he called Dan's daughter an urchin three minutes ago.

Trixie shouts, "Pleaseeeee stay, Lucifer?" from behind her closed door.

Soundproofing wasn't a selling point of the apartment.

(Nothing was a selling point of the apartment. Dan lives here because he can afford to and still send money home to his parents, and the neighbors don't hate him for being a cop. Or Latino. Outwardly.)

"Well." Lucifer raises his voice slightly to answer her, but he's still looking at Dan with that too-wide look in his eyes. "If that's what you want."

Dan finally moves away from the front door, pausing to clap Lucifer on the shoulder on his way to grab the takeout menu off the fridge.

"You're in luck," he says. "Trix likes pineapple on her pizza."

~*~

Spirit and the other horses are escaping from the Transcontinental Railroad—

"I told you it was a weird movie, dude," says Dan.

—when Trixie's phone starts ringing.

Lucifer sees the screen light up and grabs it out of Trixie's hands, hitting the 'answer call' button with a flourish.

"Beatrice's phone," he announces. "How can I be of service?"

"Wha— _ Lucifer?"  _ Chloe asks indignantly, her voice pitching up weirdly over the speakerphone. "What—where's Dan?"

Trixie interjects, "Hi, mommy!"

"I'm here, Chlo." Dan pinches the bridge of his nose. "What's up?"

Chloe's tone is about 300% done. "Why aren't you answering your phone? I called four times!"

"Uh." Dan grabs his phone off the coffee table. "Shoot, I forgot to take it off silent. What's wro—"

"Detective, are you enjoying your 'booze cruise' with Mazikeen?" Lucifer smirks. "Is anyone topless yet?"

"Lucifer," Chloe says. "Shut  _ up." _

Lucifer waggles his eyebrows at Trixie. "I'll take that as a 'yes.'"

Dan is busy scrolling through his missed texts.

** _Chloe (6:17 PM): _ ** _ Trixie left her science project here. It's due on Monday. Can you come pick it up? _

** _Chloe (6:32 PM): _ ** _ Dan, I'm leaving in an hour. _

** _Chloe (6:50 PM): _ ** _ Seriously?? Pick up the phone! _

** _Chloe (7:10 PM): _ ** _ You're unbelievable. _

Dan's in deep shit. "Lucifer, give me the phone."

"Right." Lucifer trades the phone out for the remote, unpausing the TV. He turns to Trixie and asks, "Is that painted horse really dead? That's rather dark for a children's movie."

Trixie pats Lucifer on the knee and tells him, "Just keep watching," which is a nice final image before Dan's brutal murder.

"Hey, Chlo," he says, taking it off speaker. He walks into his bedroom and shuts the door. "I'm sorry I didn't pick up—I had it muted for work and then grabbing Trixie—"

"You know, it's fine." Chloe sighs. "She was supposed to bring it to school with her, anyway. I'm glad everyone's okay. I'm honestly just  _ so  _ not looking forward to this cruise thing and all on edge—I'm sorry."

Dan shakes his head with a laugh. "So, no one's topless yet?"

Chloe teases, "Hmm, I didn't say that." 

"Well, try and relax at least," Dan urges, smiling. He kicks his pile of clothes closer to the hamper. "And I really am sorry about the phone. I'll swing by and pick up the thing—we can work on it this weekend."

Chloe says, "Thanks, Dan."

"Yeah, sure," he answers. "Talk to you—"

"Hey," Chloe cuts in. "Seriously, what's up with Lucifer being over? You guys have been hanging out a lot lately."

Dan looks up at the ceiling. "Nice try, but you can't use our weird friend to avoid getting drunk on a yacht with our other weird friend."

"This is why we're divorced," Chloe says. Then, "See you Sunday?"

"Have fun, Chloe," Dan answers. He hesitates, eyes casting around the room and landing on nothing. "Love you."

Chloe pauses, something in her voice pitching lower. "You too. Bye."

She hangs up. Dan takes a breath, eyes fluttering shut, and then opens them again. 

Trixie's lockscreen is a picture of all three of them at last year's camping trip. 

Dan walks back into the living room and brightens his tone—probably a little too thoroughly, but neither of them seem to notice. "Alright, who wants to go on a field trip back to Mommy's?"

Trixie sits up with the kind of utter despair on her face that only pre-teens ever seem to pull off. "But Daaaaad! We're at the best part!"

"Yes, Daniel!" Lucifer insists. Genuinely. "He's just found his human friend again!"

Dan scrubs a hand over his face, then locks eyes with Lucifer.

"No alcohol," he warns—okay, begs, maybe. "No leaving the apartment. I'll be back in forty minutes. Be a responsible adult."

"Yes _sir!" _Lucifer answers, suddenly sporting a wicked grin, which—

There's literally no other response that could make Dan  _ more  _ sure this is a terrible decision, but it'll probably be fine, somehow. Right?

Dan hands Trixie her phone back and kisses her on the forehead. "See you soon, kiddo. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

Trixie is focused on the television screen. "Bye, Daddy!"

Life as a parent—so glamorous. Dan grabs the spare key to Chloe's place off the alcove and locks the door on his way out. 

~*~

He misses his exit on the highway, knuckles white from the effort of fighting the impulse to swerve onto the ramp when he finally processes the sign he’s about to speed past. It’s fine. It adds six minutes to his ETA, and the burst of adrenaline doesn’t do anything to shatter the way Lucifer’s cheeky  _ Yes, sir,  _ is echoing in his head.

It’s fine. 

~*~

Dan snags the half-finished project (one of those trifold things about global warming), rescues Trixie's favorite stuffed animal from under the bed, and even stops at the grocery store for snacks on the way home.

** _Det. Douche (8:03 PM): _ ** _ What flavor ice cream do you guys want _

** _Asshole (8:05 PM): _ ** _ [cow emoji, paw print emoji] _

** _Asshole (8:05 PM): _ ** _ [strawberry emoji, cake emoji, chocolate bar emoji] _

** _Det. Douche (8:06 PM): _ ** _ I have no idea what that means _

** _Asshole (8:09 PM): _ ** _ [seven shrugging lady emojis] _

Dan buys double chocolate and dulce de leche and calls it a day.

No one's in the living room when he gets home, but Trixie's door is open and he can hear their voices carrying from there.

"Yes, that's a good start, but you need to blend it at the crease more," Lucifer is saying. "See, like this."

Dan puts the ice cream in the freezer and peeks into the bedroom.

Lucifer and Trixie are sitting cross-legged at the foot of her bed, one of those super magnified mirrors and an honestly really terrifying amount of makeup strewn out between them.

Lucifer's cheeks are shimmering with glitter above the sharp line of his beard. He smooths an index finger over his eyelid, deepening a smudge of dark purple eyeshadow where it blends into something closer to lilac, and Trixie sticks her tongue out with concentration as she tries to do the same to his other side.

"Uh, hey," says Dan. He clears his throat when Lucifer turns, struck by how—

Like, it's makeup done by an eight-year-old, so it's not exactly—

It shouldn't look good anyway, is the thing, but Dan could imagine how it  _ would— _ the way his cheekbones glimmer in the light and there's eyeliner reminding you how weirdly doe-eyed he is for a dude, and his lips are this  _ color— _

"Who gave you so much makeup, kiddo?" Dan asks, clearing his head. "I thought we talked about not wearing any for a while."

Trixie holds up a giant tray-thing that has at least thirty different colors of eyeshadow on it and says, "Maze let me borrow it!"

Dan massages his temple. "Yeah, that tracks."

"Don't be such a spoilsport, Daniel!" Lucifer flutters his eyelashes and smirks up from under them. It makes Dan's stomach turn. "I think she's made me look rather beautiful, don't you?"

Dan reaches over and switches on the ceiling fan. He looks away from Lucifer, focusing on the big, innocent smile on his daughter's face—whatever weirdness he's feeling, she hasn't learned that yet. He won't let that change because of him.

"Not as good as I'm gonna look," he says, then tosses his jacket to the side and plops down facing the two of them on the floor. "You're doing me next."

~*~

"Done!" Trixie announces proudly, capping the tube of translucent pink lipgloss she just used. 

This shit is so  _ greasy.  _ How do people wear this all the time?

"Oh, hold on, Daniel." Lucifer licks his thumb and leans in, cupping Dan's face to wipe at the corner of his mouth. "Just a smudge."

Dan is stunned uncomfortably speechless. Lucifer takes this opportunity to hook his chin over Dan's shoulder and snap a selfie of them before Dan can react.

_ "Dude!"  _ Dan yelps. He tries to snatch the phone out of Lucifer's hand, but the bastard rolls away from him and wiggles the phone triumphantly.

Trixie peeks at the photo. "Aww, you look so pretty, Daddy!"

Dan scrubs a hand over his face. "Just don't post it anywhere, okay, man?"

"But, Detective, where's the fun in that?" 

Dan's throat seizes up, thinking about what his college buddies on Facebook would say—what his  _ parents  _ would say—and he glances at Trixie and he doesn't want to freak her out but it's hard to breathe and—

"Please, dude," he begs Lucifer quietly.

Lucifer, for once, takes the hint. He rolls his eyes and says, "Oh, fine. But at least let me send it to the Detective."

Dan can live with that. He waves Lucifer off and turns to Trixie.

"Okay, kiddo, it's time for bed," he says. "Go brush your teeth."

Trixie crosses her arms and pouts. "But Dad, Lucifer said we could stay up all night and watch  _ High School Musical!" _

"I did say that, Daniel," Lucifer agrees.

Dan will not strangle Lucifer in front of the child. He's bigger than that.

Besides, Trixie looks so  _ excited.  _ He's always had a hard time saying no to her, when his job keeps him away and there's not that many moments like this left—where she'll be little enough to beg him to stay up a little longer, just to spend time with him.

"Okay, I'll make you a deal," Dan tells her, acting very serious to really sell it.

"That's  _ my  _ line," Lucifer protests.

Dan rolls his eyes and ignores him. "You can stay up if you go get us three bowls and spoons for ice cream."

Trixie jumps up, sending the makeup case in her lap flying—which Lucifer catches with lightning speed—and tackles Dan into a giant hug.

"You're the best, Daddy!"

Dan isn't, but it feels good to try.

She runs off into the kitchen, and Dan goes to sit up when Lucifer leans over and flashes Chloe's response to the picture.

** _Det. Decker (9:12 PM): _ ** _ I'm gonna kill Maze. _

** _Det. Decker (9:12 PM): _ ** _ Tell Dan the blue brings out his eyes. _

Something loosens in Dan's chest.

Trixie runs back into her bedroom and grabs the  _ High School Musical  _ trilogy DVD set out of her collection.

"The ice cream is ready!" she announces. "Can we stay up  _ all  _ night?"

~*~

Dan wakes up on the couch. He keeps his eyes closed and turns away from the blaring light of the TV, and the motion presses his face into someone's neck. 

_ Lucifer's,  _ he thinks, and everything's fuzzy in that early morning way where he could still be dreaming and it doesn't feel weird like it probably should, it feels—

Trixie is curled up in Dan's lap, her soft little puffs of breath rhythmic and damp against the arm he has wrapped around her. Her cheek is pressed against Dan's chest, and he's slumped against Lucifer's chest in turn. The TV keeps asking,  _ 'What team? Wildcats!'  _ and Dan can still hear them both breathing.

Dan should do the responsible dad thing—carry Trixie to bed and tuck her in, maybe leave a pillow and blanket for Lucifer on the couch. Clean up the mess on the coffee table and turn off the television.

But—

The ice cream's already melted and the volume isn't up so loud, and Dan can smell the faint musk of Lucifer's cologne. It's warm. He could fall back asleep and pretend he never woke up at all. 

Lucifer grumbles and shifts in his sleep, nuzzling his face into Dan's hair. His lips brush against Dan's temple—it feels like he smiles, but Dan must imagine that. 

Then, Lucifer wakes up. He hums again, pushing gently against Dan's hip to sit up straighter, and fuck, this is so awkward, what the fuck is Dan supposed to do?

He could probably pretend that he woke up at the same time. They'd probably laugh about it a little and everyone could get up and go to bed. But Lucifer shuts off the TV and carefully scoots the back pillow of the couch under Dan's cheek to replace his shoulder when he gets up to scoop Trixie into his arms.

Dan listens to the soft creak of the floorboards, the sound of Lucifer pulling Trixie's bedroom door halfway shut when he walks into the living room again.

Lucifer sits back down on the couch, one arm settling over the backrest behind Dan's head, close enough that their thighs brush.

"Shall I carry you to bed too, Daniel?" he purrs, shit-eating grin audible in his voice.

Dan huffs out a laugh and socks him half-heartedly in the ribs, which is pretty good aim for his eyes being closed. "Fuck off, man."

He finally opens his eyes, blinking the room into focus slowly, and—

Lucifer's face is so close—closer than Dan'd realized—and there's still dark eyeliner smudged all over his face, which kind of makes him look like a raccoon. His hair is falling in his face.

Dan wants something he can't describe. He feels it in the seeping warmth in the bottom of his lungs, and if there were words for it, it'd kill him.

"Right," Lucifer says, finally. His eyes are doing that thing, again, like—

Dan knows it's stupid and cliche, but—

If the whole devil thing was real, Lucifer's eyes were the first thing that learned to be human.

"I suppose I should take my leave, then."

"You could stay," scrapes out of Dan's throat. He clears it. "It'd, uh—for Trix. It'd mean a lot. If you stayed."

"Well," Lucifer answers roughly. "If that's what she wants."

~*~

Lucifer's still loitering around Dan's apartment by the time Sunday afternoon rolls around and Chloe comes to pick Trixie up.

"Lucifer," she says, raising her eyebrows. "Did you stay here all weekend?"

"Well, I certainly didn't go home to change into  _ this,"  _ Lucifer answers, gesturing at his outfit. He's wearing one of Dan's old henleys and a pair of Arizona State sweatpants and still looks ten times hotter than Dan does on his best day.

Chloe narrows her eyes. "Huh. That's weirdly adorable. Are you two plotting something?"

"What?" Dan asks. "No."

"Of course not!" Lucifer agrees. He tugs Dan into a headlock to give him a noogie and switches to that god-awful American accent he likes to do. "Just a coupl'a guys bein' dudes."

"Never do that voice again," says Chloe. "Trix, babe, let's go. Maze's in the car."

Trixie darts out of her bedroom and wraps her arms around Lucifer's waist. "Bye, Lucifer! I love you!"

Lucifer's eyes widen. "Ah… goodbye, urchin."

"Bye, Daddy!" Trixie hugs Dan next, and he crouches down to kiss her on the cheek. "I love you too!"

"Love you so much, kiddo," he answers. "See you soon, okay?"

She nods as she pulls away, grabbing Chloe's hand on the way to the door.

The apartment's uncomfortably quiet after they leave. Dan always gets this stomach-turning feeling of relief, when Trixie goes back with Chloe for the week and the responsibility is out of his hands again. Like there’s a weight lifted off his shoulders, but it reminds him how fucking lonely he is, most of the time.

Lucifer clears his throat, still looking dazed, and says, "Well, I suppose I should check on Lux. Here, let me—"

He goes to pull his shirt off, which—

"Jeez, dude!" Dan yanks the shirt back down, brushing his knuckles against Lucifer’s stomach. "Just give it back to me tomorrow!"

"Oh, right." Lucifer blinks. "See you at work?"

Dan takes a step back, absentmindedly smoothing down the wrinkles in Lucifer's sweater. "Uh, yeah. I'll—yeah?"

Lucifer slips back into his shoes and out the door without another word, and for the first time in two and a half days, Dan's actually alone.

~*~

** _Chloe (3:41 PM): _ ** _ Why did Trixie just tell me that you and Lucifer are taking her to that weird sea life cruise at the aquarium next month? _

Dan scrubs a hand over his face.

** _Det. Douche (3:57 PM): _ ** _ Dude have you been texting my daughter? _

** _Lucifer Morningstar (4:00 PM): _ ** _ [girl with pigtails emoji, pufferfish emoji, sparkly pink heart emoji, crying face emoji, moneybag emoji, thumbs up emoji] _

_ ~*~ _

Dan's always had a thing for thin fingers.

Chloe's, carding gently and lovingly through Trixie's hair; Charlotte Richards slipping two into his mouth after he swears he won't fuck her again, right before he does.

He catches himself staring at Lucifer's, longer and thicker, wrapped loosely around the neck of a cheap beer bottle he made fun of Dan for buying and is drinking anyway.

Lucifer tongues at the rim of the bottle when he catches Dan staring, too, waggling his eyebrows.

"Something wrong, Detective?" he teases.

"No," Dan says. "Where're we going tonight?"

~*~

It doesn't have to mean anything.

~*~

They're at the same club as that first night, which is where Lucifer drags Dan something like 30% of the time. 

It goes the same as always—

Lucifer buys Dan something ridiculously expensive on the rocks and Dan starts drinking strawberry daiquiris on Lucifer's tab as soon he ditches Dan for the dancefloor, because no one knows him here and he wants to get drunk and vaguely miserable off something that doesn't taste like gasoline.

He could probably tell Lucifer to stop bringing him here, is the thing. But he doesn't, and Lucifer is kissing a woman who's sandwiched between him and the man she walked in with. 

"Is this, like, your kink?" the bartender—Max—asks suddenly. "Watching your boyfriend pick up?"

"Jesus Christ," says Dan. He pushes the nearly-empty glass in front of him away. "I'm not—"

Max raises an eyebrow.

Dan's hands are damp with condensation. He wipes them on his jeans and says, "I'm not with him."

"Oh, buddy." Max snags Dan's glass. "Get you another?"

Dan looks back out over the dancefloor—Lucifer's kissing the man, now, while the woman does something below the waist.

Fuck it.

"I'm good," he answers, pushing away. "Thanks, man."

Dan weaves through the crowd to get to Lucifer, fully intent on telling him that he's grabbing an Uber and going home,  _ see you tomorrow, have fun _ —until he's waylaid by a hand on the back of his shoulder.

"Hey," says the other man when Dan turns around. He's a little shorter than Dan, with curly blond hair and cute freckles on his nose and, uh, bare shoulders. "Wanna dance?"

Dan opens his mouth to politely decline—sorry, I don't like dudes, I'm actually about to leave and never come back to this stupid place again—and, then, well. Here's the thing.

Dan's had three daiquiris and two fingers of bourbon, and for the past four months he's been coming to a gay club to watch his best—

Christ. Jesus Christ.

To watch his best friend practically have sex with other men on the dance floor, and it hasn't been such a horrible time that he's wanted to stop. He's wanted to come back, maybe. He's tried not to think about it.

"Sure," Dan says, still staring at the freckles. "Yeah."

The other man, whose name is—

"Aidan," he pants, right into Dan's ear.

Aidan's a good dancer. He probably comes here a lot, or places like it. Dan comes here a lot, technically, but he doesn't know what he's doing.

"That's okay," Aidan tells him, maybe half-jokingly as he slides Dan's hands onto his hips, "you can have the easy job."

Dan relaxes into it, flexing his fingers as they dig into Aidan's hipbones. It's been a while since he's danced with anyone like this, so it's, like—

It's probably not that different or anything, just something he's forgotten how to do. It doesn't feel bad, though. Aidan's hair is soft and tickles against Dan's nose, and it's actually nice, the way they're grinding up against each other.

And then Aidan tilts his head back and kisses him, open-mouthed and a little wet, and  _ that's _ —

Good. It's good, and Dan will freak the fuck out about that later, probably, when the booze wears off, but it hasn't, and he kisses back. He slips a hand over Aidan's stomach, feeling it flex underneath the rough skin of his palm.

Two or three or four songs later, someone squeezes the back of Dan's neck.

"See you on Monday, Detective," Lucifer purrs, then glides away just as easily, led away by the woman from before. He winks over his shoulder, like they're all sharing a fun secret.

It's not a fun secret. Dan tenses up, wondering—

Lucifer knows not to tell anyone, right? He wouldn't just—

"Was that your friend?" Aidan asks, tracing a hand up into Dan's hair.

"Yeah." Dan looks down at Aidan, his throat suddenly dry. "Hey, uh. I wanted to, uh—I'm kinda new to… you know. So I'm not looking to go home with anyone tonight."

Aidan shrugs, apparently unbothered, and turns all the way around to wrap his arms around Dan's neck. "That's okay."

~*~

Dan doesn't stay that much longer. He doesn't ask for Aidan's number, and Aidan doesn't ask for his. 

It's hard to sleep that night, even with the alcohol, and he drives to Lux first thing in the morning without bothering to text. He needs to  _ know  _ Lucifer understands him—no cryptic emoji fucking hieroglyphics.

Lucifer is in a red silk robe and a pair of boxers, which looks slightly out of place paired with his unusually scruffy beard, flipping an omelette in a frying pan like chefs do on TV. He grins when Dan steps out of the elevator.

"Daniel!" he greets. "You're just in time for breakfast."

Dan peers in the direction of the bedroom, where there are two human-shaped lumps under the sheets. "Hey, man. I just came by to talk."

"Well, be a dear and get out the orange juice," Lucifer tells him. "I have a feeling our friends over there will need a little hair of the dog."

Dan opens the fridge on autopilot, setting the carton on the counter. He crouches down to find a bottle of champagne from the wine fridge, too—and grabs a second one, because he's known Lucifer for longer than two minutes.

"Look," he says, ignoring the way Lucifer places a hand over his heart, touched, when he passes both over. "I just wanted—about last night."

Lucifer hums, sliding the omelette onto a plate.

"Just—please don't tell anyone, okay, dude?" Dan asks, staring at the way Lucifer cracks another egg one-handed. "I'm not—I just want it between us, right now."

"Of course," Lucifer says, like Dan didn't almost hurl three times on the way over here because he was so freaked the fuck out. "Do you want peppers in your omelette?"

Dan scrubs a hand over his face, breathing out to force his stomach to settle, and pulls up a seat at the bar. "Gross, no. Do you have black olives?"

~*~

Lucifer's mystery couple still hasn't woken up, and Dan's halfway through his eggs. He's scrolling through Reddit while he eats, listening to Lucifer quietly pluck something out on the piano behind him, when he suddenly drops his phone in excitement.

"Holy shit,  _ dude!"  _ Dan wheels around in his chair and Lucifer stops playing abruptly to look at him. "They're rebooting  _ The Weaponizer." _

Lucifer scrambles off the piano bench. "What? Let me see!"

Dan clicks on the article and holds up the phone for Lucifer to read along—which he does, by hooking his chin over Dan's shoulder and bracketing him in with both hands braced on the bartop. 

The article says the reboot will feature Kimo Van Zandt reprising his role and training a newbie to take over the Weaponizer mantel, leading to a full series of new movies in the future.

"Dude, we've gotta have a marathon before this thing comes out," Dan says, leaning back against Lucifer's chest so he can gesture excitedly at him. "Starting with—"

"Number five, obviously!" Lucifer finishes, grinning.

"Exactly!" Dan mimes a marquee banner with his hands. "The origin story!"

Lucifer covers a hand over his mouth to distort his voice, quoting, "'Your sister's time is up, rookie.'"

Dan jumps out of his of his chair and puts up his fists. "Not on  _ my  _ watch!"

Lucifer takes the cue and feigns a right hook, which Dan ducks under and returns, mimicking a comic book-style  _ 'pow'  _ sound when he nails Lucifer on the shoulder.

"You'll never stop me in time!" Lucifer challenges, thwocking Dan with a series of jabs before leaping onto the couch, wobbling on one foot with his arms outstretched.

Dan laughs brightly—totally breaking character, but Lucifer doesn't seem to care. He jumps up onto the opposite armrest of the couch, then pantomimes grabbing the famous rusty pipe from the movie—the Weaponizer's first weapon. 

Lucifer does a  _ come-hither  _ gesture with one hand and the fight is back on.

"Oof!"

"Hii- _ yah!" _

"Give me the passcode and—oh, goodness, watch the leather—"

"Sorry, dude."

"—give me the passcode and maybe I'll spare her life!"

Dan nails Lucifer on the shin and hops behind him when he falls dramatically to his knees, then pulls him into a chokehold.

"I don't negotiate with—"

A woman's voice cuts in from behind them. "Yeah, um, soo…"

Dan turns around slowly, tugging Lucifer with him. It's the same woman from last night, fully dressed and standing next to the same man, too.

"We're gonna head out?" she says. Her eyes keep shifting between Dan's face and Lucifer's... everything, which is mostly on display thanks to the open robe. "Thanks for last night?"

Lucifer, apparently unbothered by this turn of events, gives them both a little wave. "You're quite welcome, darling. Take an omelette for the road."

The couple leaves, cold eggs and an entire glass carafe of mimosas in tow, and it's at that point that Dan realizes he's still got his arm hooked around Lucifer's throat. 

They're pressed back-to-front, Lucifer's head tilted back against Dan's hip as he turns his eyes up to Dan's face with a grin. He's still breathing a little hard from their play-fight. It's—

Fine. Yeah. 

Dan lets Lucifer go, taking a step back when he does, and brushes his jeans off with a light cough. 

Lucifer turns to face him and plops down to sit cross-legged on the floor, and he's still looking up at Dan like—

It's just that—

Dan can handle making out with a dude in a club. He'll hyperventilate into a paper bag and tell his mom that he stayed in this weekend watching soccer when she calls him after church. There's plenty of room to bury shit under, from the space Palmetto left. 

But being looked at like this, and—and the way it's suddenly not enough and he wants the difference so fucking badly that he could  _ punch  _ something—

That plunges down somewhere pulsing and bloody, where it can't stay. Coughing up teeth. Dan's chest hurts.

It doesn't have to mean anything, but it does.

"Daniel?" Lucifer's fingers scrape over his beard. "Is there something on my face?"

Dan clears his throat. "Uh, yeah, man, when's the last time you shaved?"

Lucifer huffs, pushing to his feet and scrutinizing his reflection in the giant television. "I was trying a  _ thing  _ out—you know, 'ruggedly handsome?' Is it not working?"

It's definitely working. 

Dan does a  _ so-so  _ gesture with one hand. "Give it another day, maybe?"

Lucifer seems satisfied with that, clapping Dan on the shoulder as he strides back over to the kitchen area, where he immediately grabs the half-empty bottle of champagne and raises it in a toast.

"To friends," he says. "Who else would help you make pragmatic decisions about facial hair?"

"That's really specific, man," says Dan, but Lucifer's already drinking. 

_ Hair of the dog,  _ Dan thinks.  _ Chase one bad decision with another one. _

"Hey, asshole, save some for me."

~*~

Dan carried Chloe Decker's binders to her desk for her, and asked her to coffee, and took her on dates until one day he bought a ring and they had a child and fell out of love as slowly as they fell into it.

(He didn't fall out of love. He watched her drift away from him and found something to call it.)

Dan stepped on a landmine named Lucifer Morningstar and has been trying to slide his foot off it ever since.

~*~

It happens on a Tuesday a little before seven pm, which—

If anyone had asked Dan when he thought it would happen, he'd never have guessed this.

Late at night, probably. Drunk, definitely. Something that made it burn on the way down and taste plausibly deniable in the morning.

But what happens is this:

Dan is shaking not-parmesean cheese out of the green container onto the pasta he just made, thinking about absolutely nothing that matters, when the front door flings open with righteous fury.

"Daniel," Lucifer announces, sounding and looking even more indigant than he did the time Dan told him that his tie clashed with the rest of his suit. "My therapist just said something  _ very  _ upsetting to me, so if you'll help me prove a point for a moment—"

"Dude," Dan is saying, "what the fu—"

But then Lucifer cups his face in both hands and kisses him, so he isn't saying that anymore.

It's weird, because he thought, like—

Well, Dan reaches behind himself and turns off the stove, and then he swipes his tongue across Lucifer's bottom lip, and basically he thought this would feel like someone snapping each of his ribs one by one until a piece of bone punctured a lung.

Instead it feels like Lucifer's hands in his hair, and biting down hard on a sore tooth until it hurts so much that it doesn't, and the soft sound of something he wanted to be a laugh choking him on the way out.

He hasn't figured out what to do with his hands by the time Lucifer pulls away.

"Right," Lucifer says faintly. "Well, that's unfortunate."

"What?" Dan reaches for him— _ shit, that's what you do— _ but he steps back, eyes wet and pulling that fucking wrenching thousand-yard-stare, and goes for the door. "Lucifer, I don't—"

"Don't worry, Daniel," Lucifer answers, something bitter in it that makes Dan's own lip curl. "I've grown quite used to rejection from the Detective. We can spare—"

Dan asks, "Rejection? What—" and bolts for the door. "Luce,  _ wait." _

Lucifer stops in front of him, disbelief on his face—like he's wondering why Dan would stand in his fucking way.

Dan says, "You're a fucking idiot, man," and pushes him against the wall.

Another weird thing: Lucifer always feels so tall, with the way he sweeps into rooms and makes big gestures with his hands and has obnoxiously perfect posture. It feels like he should be hard to reach.

But they're pressed almost nose-to-nose, and it's so easy—an inch, inch-and-a-half max, with Lucifer looking down at him, to push up and kiss him again. 

Dan bites into Lucifer's mouth, teeth dragging across his lip, slides his hand under the open suit jacket to feel shirt buttons catch against his fingers until he hits the bare skin at the base of Lucifer's throat.

_ You don't get it. I want this. Just don't ask me how much. _

Lucifer breaks the kiss and presses their foreheads together with a soft gasp. His voice is shaking. "Daniel…"

Dan opens his eyes, finds Lucifer's open too and his lips twitching as he watches Dan's face. His eyelashes are so long.

Dan drags his thumb across the hollow of Lucifer's throat and asks, "Yeah?"

Lucifer flips them, pinning Dan against the door, and suddenly Dan is being kissed like there's something to tear out. 

His tongue—or his throat, Lucifer biting a sharp bruise into Dan's neck that hurts so much that Dan nearly comes in his pants, hands numb and useless and shaking—or his heart, Lucifer's hand on his chest with his fingers pressing in reverently like he could break the breastbone and grip it in his fist, but he won't, and then Lucifer is on his knees.

It's ridiculous. Lucifer Morningstar in a full suit, kneeling on Dan's shitty apartment fake hardwood and looking up for the briefest, most unbearable moment before he pushes up Dan's  _ 'World's Okayest Dad'  _ tee shirt to suckle at his hip bone.

"Oh, fuck," Dan breathes out, eyes slipping shut. He wants to—doesn't know, can't think. "Can you…"

Lucifer hums, licks a stripe up Dan's ribs, and pops open the button on his jeans.

Dan says, "Luce," over the sound of his zipper coming undone.

"Second thoughts, darling?" Lucifer teases, holding his hands up. "We can slow down."

Dan's throat is so dry. He feels light-headed. "No, it's—I've got a bed, you know."

"Daniel." Lucifer clucks his tongue, gently tugging down Dan's jeans and boxers in one go. "I thought we were expanding your horizons."

Dan slides a hand into Lucifer's hair and pulls.

Lucifer ducks down and presses his mouth to Dan's inner thigh, kissing and nipping his way up, one hand holding Dan down by the hip and the other curled around the back of his knee, dragging a blunt fingernail over the soft skin there.

"Oh, fuck. Jes—" Probably wouldn't go over well.  _ "Luce." _

Lucifer rests his cheek on Dan's thigh, tilting his head up to smirk at him. "Try not to come too soon, darling. I've barely started."

"Then stop doing that th— _ ah!" _

Lucifer soothes his tongue over the place his teeth were at the crease of Dan's thigh. He finally,  _ finally  _ sucks the head of Dan's dick into his mouth, and Dan swears to God he's never seen anyone look so smug giving a blowjob.

It's the eyes, Dan thinks, so bright and brown that they almost look red when they flash delightedly at Dan choking back a sob. And the curl of his mouth when Dan's dick hits the back of his throat.

Then Dan tightens his grip in Lucifer's hair, and Lucifer closes his eyes and the whole face changes. He looks—

It doesn't make sense. He's deepthroating Dan's cock and digging fingertip-shaped bruises into Dan's overheated skin, and he looks like the paintings hanging in Dan's childhood church—

Saints, venerating.

Dan thinks he'd hate it, if he knew. 

Lucifer sucks back and starts working over Dan's dick with, like, a weirdly endearing earnestness, a hand dropping down to tease at Dan's balls and the space behind them, which—

Dan's thought about that, a little. Enough to realize he hasn't wanted to think about it—that it makes his lungs clench up and freeze his breath and it feels too much like what his highschool friends used to say when they shoved each other into lockers.

It's been a long time since then, but Lucifer presses two fingers against the thin skin behind Dan's balls and Dan sees stars and grabs the hand by the wrist, pulls it away in a thick-throated burst of panic that makes his eardrums feel like they'll explode. 

Lucifer takes Dan all the way back down again and scratches his fingernails against Dan's stomach.

"Close," Dan pants. "S-sorry—"

It's been five minutes, maybe, or three hours, with his shoulders knocking against the door. Lucifer hums, that pleased almost-smile back in his face, and opens his eyes to watch Dan's face while he comes.

Dan doesn't know what he looks like. He throws his head back, wincing when it collides with the door, and gasps for air as Lucifer sucks him through it.

He sinks to the ground after, bracing a hand on Lucifer's shoulder and then slumping against his whole body, laughing with disbelief when Luce nuzzles against his cheek.

"Fuck," he says breathlessly. "Fuck, man."

"I know," Lucifer agrees, then tilts Dan's face and kisses him softly, once. "I'm quite good."

Dan leans back in, cupping the back of Lucifer's neck, the pace so raw and tender compared to before that it almost feels like kissing someone else—except for the stubble under his palm, and the taste of come stinging his tongue.

"Right," Lucifer murmurs. "Time for that bed, now?"

Dan nods and takes the hand Lucifer offers to help him to his feet. He pulls his jeans up awkwardly instead of taking the time to wriggle out of them, and is rewarded for it by Lucifer undressing him slowly when they reach the bedroom.

He peels off Dan's shirt first, hands tickling at his ribs, and tosses it across the room. (It lands in the hamper, because of course it does.) Then the jeans, leaving his underwear, gently lifting Dan's feet by one ankle at a time to free them.

Lucifer catches the elastic band of Dan's boxers between his teeth and tugs them down last, his nose brushing against Dan's thigh. He stands back up slowly, dragging his eyes over Dan's entire body as he does.

Dan suddenly feels—well, naked. He wants somewhere to go, maybe diving headfirst under the unmade covers on the bed, but then—

"Still so lovely," Lucifer tells him, smiling lopsidedly, and then raises his eyebrows playfully.

Dan laughs self-consciously and gestures broadly at Lucifer in comparison. "C'mon, man."

"Oh, yes," Lucifer says, going to shrug out of his suit jacket. "How rude of me."

"That's not what I—" Dan gives up, stepping forward instead. "Hey, let me."

Lucifer holds his hands up. "Fair's fair."

Dan shakes his head and slips the jacket off Lucifer's shoulders, then folds it over the edge of his dresser. There's a lot of buttons on the shirt, so he licks into Lucifer's mouth while he undoes them one-handed, fingers grazing down the midline.

The shirt joins the jacket, and Dan doesn't want to stop kissing Lucifer to kneel. He fumbles blindly with the belt instead, biting Lucifer's bottom lip when he laughs at him for needing three tries. 

Then, suddenly, Lucifer is stepping out of his pants and Dan is on his back on the bed, eyes raking over the man braced on top of him.

Lucifer's hard, and uncut, smearing a drop of precome onto Dan's abs when he dips down to mouth at Dan's neck.

There was a part of Dan, maybe, that thought maybe some switch would flip where he'd see an actual hard dick and he'd realize this was all some weird moment he got caught up in and, nope, he's definitely straight, thanks for the unnecessary crisis and minimum of three hickies.

Instead, Dan bites down on Lucifer's earlobe and runs a hand over his ass, squeezing roughly to get him to rut more firmly against Dan's stomach, and arches his back.

Lucifer chuckles and makes it four hickies.

Dan reaches his hand around to Lucifer's dick, trailing his thumb through the wetness at the tip, tentatively marvelling at the foreskin, when Lucifer murmurs, "Don't worry about that, darling," and stills Dan's touch. "I'm not finished with you."

"Dude," Dan laughs softly. "I dunno what kind of supernatural refractory period you think I've got, but I'm not gonna get it up for a while."

Lucifer grumbles, turning Dan's wrist over in his grip, and nips at his ear.

"Hey, it's okay—I want to," Dan tells him, dropping his eyes down pointedly, opening his palm. "Will you let me?"

Lucifer quirks his lips, whole head tilting with the expression, and rolls onto his back.

Dan rolls with him, bracketing Lucifer's thighs with his knees on either side and leaning down to kiss him again. He sucks a trail down Lucifer's throat, pausing to drag his teeth over a spot that makes Lucifer twitch with a soft,  _ 'oh!'  _

It's kind of insane, how responsive he is. Dan traces his tongue lightly over one nipple and huffs out a laugh when Lucifer jumps and almost knees Dan in the crotch.

"Bollocks," he curses apologetically, making Dan laugh harder.

"Yeah," he says, "watch out for those," and scrapes his teeth over the other nipple before he can laugh at his own joke.

Lucifer snorts, then shifts so that one ankle is hooked loosely over Dan's calf and runs a hand through Dan's hair. The other arm is wrapped around Dan's middle like Dan might be planning on bailing halfway through, and it feels good to flex against it and be held back down. 

It's been a while, since someone wanted to keep Dan here.

He couldn't say it in words even if he wanted to, but he presses warm, open-mouthed kisses down Lucifer's stomach until it's hard to breathe and he feels like he could hyperventilate and the hand in his hair starts petting gently, like it's enough.

Dan nuzzles at Lucifer's cock, sucking in a deep breath, bringing a hand down to steady it at the base.

"You've not done this before, have you?" Lucifer asks.

"Nah." Dan looks up with a smirk. "But I'm good with improv."

Lucifer laughs so hard he snorts and jabs his heel into Dan's shoulder blade. "That's a  _ horrible  _ joke!"

Dan buries his face in the crease of Lucifer's thigh, working his dick over with one hand while he searches for—

"Ah!" Lucifer wriggles away when Dan mouths at the best spot, hips fucking up into the curl of Dan's fist. "Someone's—observant."

Dan answers with his teeth and the drop of precome he smears over Lucifer's head, and—fuck, he feels so wet already, like he's slicked up with lube, and Dan wonders if it's the foreskin slipping under his fingers or just how hot he is for it, squirming under Dan's hand when he'd told Dan he didn't even have to touch.

It's this liminal, terrifying fucking thing—because Dan knows there's something like thirty-four and a half years of life behind him when he wouldn't have  _ wanted _ to, but he can't remember it by the time he takes Lucifer's dick into his mouth. 

Dan started existing when he killed the burner on the stove, when he remembered to lift his hands. 

It’s different, sucking dick. Not even in all the ways he wondered about (Christ, Dan did a lot of wondering, which probably could have clued him in), but in, like—his jaw aches more than his tongue, and mouth is full, which is nice, and he can't hide his face in Lucifer's thighs as easily, which isn't.

"Daniel," Lucifer pants, "how do you feel about a little instruction during sex?"

Dan lifts his head against the rush that shoots down his spine, locking eyes with Lucifer, hoping the look says—

"Excellent." Lucifer falls back against the pillows. "Use your hand for me, darling, sort of like— _ oh,  _ there—that's a good boy."

Dan's eyes squeeze shut and he shudders again, hot and embarrassed and curling his back to arch into the hand gripping the top of his neck, and it's—it's—

He wasn't lying, about getting hard again, it's just—

It stops  _ feeling  _ good, after, usually. Which never kept him from eating Chloe out for thirty minutes after he came in her until he couldn't taste himself anymore and she was clawing at his shoulders to get more or get him to stop, but—

Lucifer's hips spasm and he fucks up into Dan's mouth and chokes him, a little, and he says, "Sorry, darling, why don't you hold me down? Yes,  _ perfect,  _ that's perfect," and, "You're a natural, lo— _ oh!  _ Are you sure you've never sucked cock before?"

And Dan feels like he could blackout-come with his dick still soft between his thighs. He's on the verge of tears, maybe, which is fucking humiliating, and he wants Lucifer to tell him he's such a pretty boy when he cries and there's something  _ wrong  _ with him. Beyond the obvious.

"A little tighter now, dear." Lucifer's voice is shaking worse than before, a visible quiver in his throat. "Good boy, there, yes— _ fuck,  _ do you want—?"

Dan leans harder on the forearm keeping Luce down by the hips and sucks harder, misses the first taste of come until he swallows and feels the rest hitting his tongue as Lucifer cries out above him—so fucking composed so much of the time and so fucking wrecked in Dan's bed, the sheets tangled up around him as he gasps for air.

It's impossible, Dan would think—is thinking, even as Lucifer scrubs the sweat off his face and runs a hand through his hair.

Dan wipes the spit off his mouth with the back of a hand and crawls back up the bed. He brushes their lips together, smiling faintly when Luce tips his chin up to meet him.

"Right," Lucifer mumbles, slipping a thigh between Dan's legs. "Give me five minutes and I'll be ready for another go."

"I'm gonna kill you," Dan says.

~*~

Round two ends up happening after Dan inhales a plate of spaghetti, which Lucifer keeps insisting he can turn into a foreplay thing, and they're on round three and a half by the time Dan starts to feel like he might actually pass out from—

Well, basically everything.

Lucifer's on his stomach and Dan is fucking into him slowly, panting hot breath against his neck and trying to take in enough oxygen to put feeling back in his fingertips, and as fucking impossibly amazing as this feels, there's no way in hell that Dan's gonna come again.

"Have I worn you out already, darling?" Lucifer murmurs into the pillowcase, which is big talk for a guy who hasn't moved in twenty minutes. 

Dan scrapes his teeth over soft spot under Lucifer's jaw. "Uh,  _ yeah." _

"Well, we gave it the—" Lucifer pauses. "What's the expression? The college try."

"Dude, we  _ graduated.  _ Three times." Dan grips the base of his dick and pulls out slowly, chucking the condom into the trashcan next to his nightstand. He nuzzles behind Lucifer's ear and trails his fingers down his arm. "Just come to bed with me."

Lucifer jokes sleepily, "Is there another bed? I'm not leaving this one."

Dan huffs out a laugh and kisses down the back of Lucifer's neck, pausing when he gets to the top of his spine. He lifts his head and traces a hand down the middle, chest going tight.

It's not that he didn't notice the scars, obviously. He saw them months ago, when they went undercover at the bath house. But he's been kind of preoccupied, and now he's thinking about the rest of that night again—

_ "Who do you want dead?" _

_ "Lucifer Morningstar." _

—and the sniper at the medical center, and how it's the same man underneath Dan's thighs—who let an eight-year-old stab him with an eyeliner pencil and bought Dan a limited-edition  _ Weaponizer  _ wobble head because he happened to see it on E-Bay, and hid his face in Dan's neck the first time Dan slipped a finger inside him even though he sleeps with an average of ten people a week.

Dan traces his fingers over the edge of the scar on the right, something specific aching under his knuckles, and asks, "Do they hurt?"

"Not in the slightest," Lucifer answers, his voice taut.

And Dan—there's a lot going through his head.  _ Liar,  _ first, and then,  _ I changed your name in my phone,  _ and,  _ I still want this. This too.  _ He brushes his lips down the path his fingers took, hot skin under his mouth that feels aching still, and Dan doesn't really pray anymore but he thinks about it—what it'd be like, praying for a man who calls himself the Devil—

And Lucifer scrambles away from Dan and tumbles off the bed and—

"This was a mistake," he says, reaching for his clothes. "I should go."

"What? What's a mistake?" Dan sits up, rubbing his elbow where it smacked against the headboard. "Luce—"

Lucifer is hopping into his pants. He won't look Dan in the eye. "All of this! This—you—"

Dan's voice cracks. "I'm a mistake?"

"You're  _ making  _ one!" Lucifer laughs hollowly. "You don't  _ understand." _

Dan feels like he's suddenly in a jumper talk-down. He failed that training in the academy.

"You're scared," he accuses. It burns up his throat and he can't move to get off the bed without nausea spiking. "What the fuck do you have to be scared of when you're the one who made me—"

He cuts off.

Lucifer's eyes are wet. There's something feral in the way his lip curls, when the teeth flash, and he warns, "Finish that sentence very carefully, Daniel."

Dan doesn't care.

"You kissed  _ me,"  _ he snaps. _ "You _ kept breaking into my apartment and  _ you _ promised my kid you'd take her to the aquarium, and you don't get to  _ fucking  _ bail when your dick's spent, Lucifer."

The ceiling creaks from the neighbors moving around upstairs.

"Is that so?" Lucifer asks softly. He shrugs into his shirt, unbuttoned, and leaves the jacket behind on the dresser when he slams the door shut.

Dan puts his head between his knees.

~*~

It'll definitely be fine, is the thing. They were exhausted and hot-headed and it's nothing new, really. Dan grabs the suit jacket off the dresser on his way out of the house the next morning and chugs a giant coffee from the Starbucks drive thru to make up for the fact he hasn't slept.

Lucifer is sitting on Chloe's desk, swinging his feet like a little kid while he chats up Ella.

"Ah, Detective Douche!" he says. "So nice of you to—"

Dan shoves the fucking jacket against Lucifer's stupid fucking chest and stalks off, ignoring Ella's startled, "Woah, dude!" and the sound of a coffee mug shattering on the floor.

Fine, if that's how he wants to play it.

~*~

"Seriously, what's up with you and Lucifer?" Chloe asks the following Monday, over the shared plate of pad thai that Dan insisted they eat hiding in break room instead of at her desk. "I thought you two were finally getting along."

Dan's throat is scratchy; he takes a sip of water and says, "We were. I mean, I actually thought he—we had a moment, you know?"

"Oh," Chloe says, like that somehow explains everything, then slurps up a forkful of noodles. "Welcome to being friends with Lucifer."

"What?" Dan asks.

"C'mon, Dan." Chloe rolls her eyes and gestures with her fork in the direction of the window, where they can see Lucifer flirting with a rookie. "The guy's allergic to emotions. Do you know how many times he's freaked out on me after we had a 'moment?'"

Dan looks down at their plate.

Chloe advises, "Just give him a few more days and things will go back to normal."

~*~

Dan doesn't want to go back to normal. He wants what they almost had.

~*~

Tom from improv is in his mid-fifties, dresses exclusively in Hawaiian shirts, and he and his husband are the only people besides Dan's parents that he knows who have a stable marriage.

Dan still stands outside the coffee shop staring at Tom like a fucking creep for six minutes before he can force himself inside.

"Hey, Dan," Tom greets. "I didn't order for you, sorry—wasn't sure what you wanted."

Dan pulls out his chair and sits down. "Hey, man. Nah, it's cool, I—" _ Will definitely barf if I drink anything right now.  _ "—just had a cup at the station, actually."

"Oh?" Tom raises an eyebrow that says,  _ 'Then why are we at a coffee shop?' _

"Sorry, uh, I just—" Dan clears his throat. "I kinda wanted to talk about something, uh, private? And I know we're not close, man—I appreciate you meeting with me, but I guess I need advice."

Tom's face is carefully neutral. "Uh, sure. What's wrong?"

Dan holds his breath and tells Tom's coffee mug, "There's this—there's this guy I've been... seeing, I guess. And I think I fucked it up. Or— _ he  _ fucked it up, honestly, but I don't—I just want—"

"Woah, slow down, kid." Tom reaches out like he's considering touching Dan's hand, but he doesn't. "It's okay."

Dan scrubs his hands over his face and realizes his eyes are wet. Fuck. This is so embarrassing.

"Sorry. I just—I've never told anyone." Dan rips a tiny corner off the little napkin Tom's got under his coffee. "I didn't even know there was something to tell, until…"

"We've all been there," Tom says gently—too gently, except that it still feels like sandpaper. "And it's okay, Dan. You're okay. I'm proud of you."

Dan laughs shakily, more just breathing out with purpose. "Thanks, man."

Tom finally pats Dan on the hand, then grasps his coffee mug with both of his and takes another sip. "So, tell me about this guy."

Dan leans forward, forearms bracing on the table, and half-seriously confesses, "I feel like most of the time I wanna kill him?"

"That seems like a really healthy basis for a relationship," Tom says dryly.

"Thanks," says Dan. "I thought so too."

Tom is patient, leaning back in his chair.

"But we were friends," Dan tells him quietly. It hurts more than he thought it would. "Good ones. And then one night he—I mean, it was a  _ lot  _ of sex, like, I think I—sorry, is this TMI?"

Tom says, "Remind me to tell you about my honeymoon later."

"But then I guess—he freaked out?" Dan rips his napkin bits up into smaller pieces. "And now we're not talking."

He doesn't watch Tom's face, but he can hear the downturn in his voice. "That sucks. Have a sense of why?"

"I think—" Dan laughs and scrubs a hand over his face. "I mean, he's—he gets around, so I don't think it was, you know. But Chlo—our friend, she said he's allergic to emotions."

Tom hums thoughtfully.

Dan jokes, "Which is saying something, because she was married to me."

"That's more sad than funny, but it was a good try," Tom says. Then, "Do you think he just doesn't want a relationship?"

Dan remembers Lucifer's face when his hook-ups filed out of the police station, the way his voice cracked when tried to leave the room. The things he said to Boris at the bath house, and the way he touched Dan's face.

"He thinks he doesn't deserve one," Dan says, staring at the paper confetti he's littered on the table.

Tom asks, "Well, is he right?"

Dan looks up. "No."

Tom smiles, spreading his hands, and asks, "Then how do you show him that?"

The coffee shop is so loud. There's so many people, laughing and talking and sheltering from the absurdity of the city they live in. Dan says, "I don't get it."

"Feeling unlovable," Tom says. He pauses, staring through Dan for a second before refocusing. "A lot of us have been there. But if you care about your guy—aren't you already proof he's wrong?"

Dan's voice is shaking; he doesn't bother to steady it. "But you don't—he said he hates himself. How am I supposed to undo all that?"

"You can't," Tom tells him. "But you can be there while he does."

The people at the table next to them get up. One of them pushes their chair back in but the other doesn't, and Dan doesn't know what to say. He's staring at the pulled-out chair and trying not to think about the way it felt with their foreheads pressed together, trembling and about to kiss, and he feels angry and a little sick and so fucking sad that he can't speak.

"Dan," Tom prods gently.

Dan blinks and looks back over at him. "What if he doesn't let me? What if it just—hurts again?"

"Then we'll get something stronger than coffee and cry it out," Tom says, then quirks his lips at Dan's face. "Sorry, too glib?"

Dan shakes his head, managing a smile, and says, "Sorry, just thinking, I—he won't talk to me right now, and I feel like his MO is to wait this shit out, but I don't—I can't pretend it never happened."

"Yeah," Tom agrees.

Dan finally thinks about getting that coffee, but it seems weird to get up now. If he was as close to Tom as Chloe, or—or Lucifer, he'd just take a sip of his.

Tom points out, "Well, you know, you don't have to treat him differently 'cause he's a man. What did you do to patch things up with your wife after a fight?"

"I mean, she divorced me," Dan answers. "So I feel like I don't have a great baseline here."

"Work with me," says Tom.

Dan rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "I guess I'd do something for her, you know? Like bring her a lemon bar or help out with her paperwork."

Tom gestures for Dan to elaborate. "And then?"

"Uh." Dan taps his hand on the table. "She'd forgive me?"

Tom drags his hands over his face. Dan's pretty sure that he mutters,  _ 'straight men,'  _ under his breath, but he lets that slide considering the recency of evidence to the contrary.

"Look," Tom says, resting his elbows on the table again. "The thing with a gesture like that is to also  _ do better  _ next time. Or what's the point?"

"Okay, well, it sounds more obvious when  _ you  _ say it."

Tom seems unsurprised. "So what's the gesture gonna be? No ideas are bad ideas."

Dan sighs, resting his cheek on one hand, and says, "See, I feel like—I mean, the guy's  _ loaded,  _ so there's nothing I could really buy him, which leaves—"

"Ooh, Daniel!" Tom pretends to be scandalized, placing a hand over his chest. "Do you have a  _ sugar _ daddy?"

Dan snorts. "Not really. I mean, he still steals my food on a daily—"

Oh.

Dan needs to go to Walmart.

"What's happening to your face?" Tom asks, waving a hand in Dan's field of vision.

Dan answers in a rush, "I just figured it out—I need—" 

He pauses halfway out of his chair when he takes in the, like, weirdly bittersweet smirk on Tom's face, which—

It'd be cool if Dan took it down to 50% asshole, at least.

"—to grab a coffee," he finishes, standing more slowly. "And you can tell me about that honeymoon, man."

Tom pulls out his phone and starts typing.

"Uh." Dan squints at him. "What're you doing?"

"I'm texting my husband that I've adopted a thirty-year-old son and I'll be a little late to dinner," says Tom.

Dan answers, "I'm thirty-five."

~*~

Dan is hiding in Ella's lab—sorry, listening to Ella go into a very important, detailed explanation of how she's analyzing the evidence for a case Dan isn't even assigned to—and casually, totally normally staking out the precinct fridge, because he's a mature adult.

His first mistake is checking his phone when it buzzes with a new text.

** _Tom from improv (12:10 PM): _ ** _ Good luck kid _

** _Dan Espinoza (12:10 PM): _ ** _ [thumbs up emoji] _

His second mistake is literally every other decision in his entire life that's led him to this moment, because in the time it takes him to text Tom back, Lucifer marches out of the break room with, like, righteous fury and shouts, "Yes, hello, attention everyone!"

There is literally nothing that could be about to happen that isn't terrible. Ella stops talking mid-sentence and props open the door to listen.

Lucifer is holding a pudding cup that has  _ 'LUCE'  _ written on it in black Sharpie. He lofts it up over his head to display it to the small crowd standing around him.

"Right, someone has obviously laid a trap for me in the refrigerator," Lucifer declares. "If you were trying to poison me, please be aware that it won't work for another thirty minutes, because the Detective is away on her lunch break."

Dan is going to stab him.

"Oh my gosh, someone tried to  _ poison  _ Lucifer?" Ella gasps dramatically.

Dan snaps, "No one tried to—" and then catches sight of Ella's shit-eating grin. "Oh, thank God you're kidding."

Ella smacks him on the ass when he slips out into the main room, which—

Sure.

"Seriously," Lucifer is saying, "will no one—"

Dan shoves him into the interrogation room.

Lucifer gapes at him, still clutching the fucking pudding, and asks, "What was  _ that  _ for?"

"Are you serious?" Dan hisses.

"Very!" Lucifer places a hand over his chest. "I was in the middle of a very—"

_ "I  _ got you the pudding, dumbass!" Dan tilts his eyes up to the ceiling. "Jesus, how do you solve crimes?"

Lucifer frowns down at the pudding cup in his other hand.

"You got me pudding?" he repeats.

Dan takes a deep breath. This isn't how he wanted this to go. He just wanted—he  _ wants— _

"I noticed that you, uh, steal the strawberry ones the most," he says, keeping his voice more level. "So I thought those were probably your favorite. And I bought you a case."

Lucifer insists, "But  _ why?  _ Surely if you weren't bothered by the theft anymore, you could have just let me continue to steal it?"

"Because you deserve something that's yours," Dan says softly. "That you don't have to take."

"Oh." Lucifer's eyes widen, and, fuck, the way he looks at Dan like it's the most fantastic revelation—that's the face that got Dan into this shit to begin with. "This...isn't just about the pudding, is it?"

"No, dude." Dan's throat is raw. "It's not about the pudding."

Lucifer looks down, running his thumb over the thin plastic lid on the pudding cup. It's such a small movement, but the gentle clicking sound is suddenly unbearably loud between them.

"Right, well, you were right," Lucifer says. He looks up again, pleading for something Dan can't put a name to. "Strawberry is my favorite."

"It's yours," Dan tells him. "If you want it."

Lucifer's lips twitch—like he's trying not to smile or trying to remember how to make one appear, or it hurts too much to decide—but he closes his eyes and turns his head, and the door shuts resolutely behind him when he leaves Dan alone again.

~*~

Dan pats down his pockets to double-check he has his keys and wallet, then calls for Trixie. "Hey, kiddo, let's get ready to go, okay?"

Trixie pouts as she shuffles out of her room and asks, "Aren't we gonna wait for Lucifer, Daddy?"

Dan sighs, hitting the unlock button on his phone again—still no messages.

"I told you, sweetie," he says, crouching down. "I don't think Lucifer can come anymore. I'm sorry."

Trixie whines, "But—"

The door, which Dan is 70% sure was locked just a second ago, creaks open. Lucifer is on the other side, fidgeting with a cufflink and peeking around the door—so different than his normal grandstanding entrance that Dan almost chokes on the lump in his throat.

Trixie shouts, "Lucifer!" and jumps at him immediately.

"Yes, hello, urchin." Lucifer lightly rests an arm across her back, patting her on the elbow. "Sorry I'm late."

Trixie looks up at him with a big, gap-toothed smile and says, "Daddy said you couldn't come!"

"Well, I thought so too," Lucifer says. He meets Dan's gaze, and the way his voice quivers is so subtle that Dan wonders if he's imagining it, even as it happens. "But I'd hate to break a promise."

Dan swallows thickly, shaking his head with disbelief. He tries to say something—laughs instead, and laughs harder when Lucifer finally smiles back.

"I'll drive," he manages, which feels like a start.

~*~

"Daniel," Lucifer asks. They're standing in the back of the crowd at one of the deepwater exhibits, and Dan's eyes are on Trixie's little hands pressed against the glass. "Do you think that you need to know everything about someone, to… truly care about them?"

Dan glances over at him—his hands are in his pockets, and he's watching the fish drift by with a thoughtful expression.

"Uh, not really," Dan answers. 

Lucifer must feel Dan staring, but he doesn't turn his head. "What if I were to tell you that—well, that I've done things that you'd hate me for, if you knew."

Trixie skips towards the next room in the exhibit. Dan follows behind her, feeling Lucifer fall in step next to him, and lingers in the doorway. A massive sea turtle swims by and the crowd gasps, and Dan is thinking about Warden Perry and sleeping in his car to avoid a crying baby, and the way  _ mistake  _ sounded like grief in Lucifer's mouth.

"I mean, I already told you," he says, watching the turtle vanish around a corner. "I've done a lot of shit I'm not proud of. And the guy I was a year ago—"

Dan takes a breath.

"I didn't like him that much." He smiles wryly when he catches Lucifer's confused expression out of the corner of his eye. "But… I like who I am now, I think. And I guess I wanna believe—that we can change, you know? That you can care about someone for who they are now."

Lucifer clears his throat, looking between Dan and Trixie, who's apparently made friends with the kid standing next to her.

"I think that would be nice," he says. "If you're right."

Dan nods, lingering there, and then claps Lucifer on the back as they walk forward. "Besides, I tried hating you once. Didn't stick."

Lucifer jumps a little at Dan's touch and stays silent, tilting his face up watch the fish again. He's quieter than Dan's ever seen him, which is unnerving.

"Did you know that I helped invent these?" he asks suddenly, gesturing at a jellyfish floating past their faces.

Dan laughs incredulously. "What?"

"I'm serious!" Lucifer insists. "It started off as a prank my brother played on me, but things got out of hand, and—well, normally Father frowned on that sort of thing, but he actually thought they were quite good. So, here we are."

Normally Dan can at least mostly follow the weird metaphors, but this time he's beyond lost. Except for, well—

"Sounds like a good memory, man."

"Yes, well." Lucifer touches his fingertips to the glass and the closest jellyfish drifts towards them, its freaky boneless body wriggling like it's saying hello. "If it were all bad, it would've been easier to leave."

Dan wants to trace his hand over Lucifer's wrist. He runs a hand through his own hair instead. "So this was you and Amenadiel?"

"No, my brother—" Luce cuts off. His voice is suddenly flatter, like he's overcompensating. "His name was Uriel. He's… gone, now, because of me. So when I say I've done things—"

Dan's stomach sinks. "Luce, I'm so—"

"I've only told my therapist that," Lucifer says. "I think I'd rather not say more."

Trixie pokes her head around the corner, trying to figure out why they've stopped following her.

"You don't have to," Dan answers. 

Lucifer smiles shakily, drags his fingers along the glass before stepping back, watching the jellyfish swim away.

"Thank you," he whispers.

~*~

"You didn't have to get her the literally biggest one, you know," Dan says. 

They're watching Trixie sleep—she's snuggled up against a giant stuffed beluga whale, easily three times her size. She fell asleep halfway through her bedtime story.

"Yes, I know," Lucifer answers softly. "But it made her the happiest, didn't it?"

Dan looks over at him, fingers curled in the purple comforter from where he's sitting on the edge of the bed. He tries to say something, but Lucifer quirks his lips, and all that comes out of Dan's mouth is, "Wanna watch TV?"

Lucifer offers him a hand to help him up.

~*~

They don't touch on the couch. It's close, though, like they both know they could. Dan has the TV on  _ Friends  _ re-runs turned down low, the laugh track like a soft murmur while the harsh light flashes. He takes a deep breath and clears his throat.

"Hey, you know—the thing that made her happiest was you being there." He stares at Chandler and Joey arguing over their pet duck, but he can see Lucifer's eyes widen out of the corner of his own. "It meant a lot to her. And, uh…and to me."

"I see. Well," Lucifer hesitates long enough that Dan looks over and finds him staring at Dan's hand on the couch with an aching expression. Slowly, he reaches out and brushes his fingertips across Dan's knuckles. "Likewise."

Dan lifts his hand to lace their fingers together, sparks shooting down the tendons, and—fuck. He feels like a teenager, sitting in the dark at the movies with his first girlfriend and wondering if he'd go to hell if he kissed her since they weren’t married.

"Hey," Dan says, and Lucifer looks up.

Dan cups his jaw, running a thumb over the fresh stubble. He leans in slowly—doesn't want it to feel like an accident, like something they could have wanted to avoid.

Lucifer wets his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, and Dan kisses him.

It's gentle, shaky. Dan can feel the tremor in the hand he's holding and isn't sure which one of them it's coming from—doesn't matter. He nips gently with his teeth and Lucifer sighs with relief. It feels like the end of a long walk home.

Lucifer's cheek is damp under Dan's hand.

"Dan?" he asks, pulling away.

Dan squeezes Lucifer's hand. "Yeah?"

"I'm frightened."

"I know," Dan tells him. 

Another tear rolls down Lucifer's cheek. His voice is cracking and he's keeping it low, under the drone of the TV. "It  _ hurts." _

"I know, Luce."

And Lucifer kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> This will likely be a three-part series, with endgame Luci/Dan/Chloe?? Tbd, but I do love a good ot3.
> 
> I'm a filthy multishipper and I'd die for Dr. Linda, so please come scream with me about anything and everything related to Lucifer [on my Tumblr <3 ](http://www.yoursummerfrost.tumblr.com)


End file.
